A limerick I wrote this weekend:
There once was a chica named Katelyn
Who knew next to nothin' 'bout datin'.
But someday she'll have a man
With whom she'll hold hands,
And all the other girls'll be hatin'.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
How appropriate.
Hi, reader(s). Meet today's perfect song. If you don't know why it's so appropriate for today, it's okay. I'll tell you when you're older.
Shawn Colvin One Small Year
One small year;
It's been an eternity.
It's taken all of me to get here.
The hands of time,
They pushed my down the street.
They swept me of my feet to this place
And I don't know my face.
Now all through the night I can pretend
The morning will make me whole again.
Then everyday I can begin
To wait for the night again.
One more tune
That will never be done;
It's just another one for the moon,
For the days in the ruin.
Just today I woke up feeling fine,
Like the world was mine;
I was clean,
And it was a dream.
Where out of the blue came you and me,
The Wizard of Oz has set us free.
You let me float you to your feet,
Just like you believed in me,
It's like you believed.
One small year.
I wonder where I've gone.
It shouldn't seem so long or so weird.
And I was always here.
It's just one small year.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Smells like teen spirit?
Today I smelled cigarette smoke for what must have been the first time in . . . well, a long time. And, despite the ensuing nausea, I couldn't help but smile. Because what does cigarette smoke in chilly autumn air smell like? Marching band season, that's what!
It smells like crying because of numb fingers. It smells like complaining of the stupid uniforms that were roasting hot in August and yet did nothing but make us colder in October-November. Also it smells like the thirty-year-old B.O. on those uniforms. It smells like step-one drills and lateral slides. It smells like laryngitis from yelling too much. It smells like dimes in the swear jar. It smells like teenage drama over battles for leadership. It smells like teenage drama over nothing.
It smells like not knowing anything about football. It smells like arguing with the cheerleaders. It smells like "Smoke on the Water" and "Final Countdown" and "The Hey Song." Also it smells like "Tequila."
But most of all it smells like storming the field when we get band of the day, fifteen people singing and listening to "Feliz Navidad" from one mp3 player and six splitters, daring each other to eat packs of Taco Bell's fire sauce, holding hands, laughing, crying, loving, and having some of the best times of our lives. Yes, that's right. To me, cigarette smoke in cold air smells like love. Go figure.
It smells like crying because of numb fingers. It smells like complaining of the stupid uniforms that were roasting hot in August and yet did nothing but make us colder in October-November. Also it smells like the thirty-year-old B.O. on those uniforms. It smells like step-one drills and lateral slides. It smells like laryngitis from yelling too much. It smells like dimes in the swear jar. It smells like teenage drama over battles for leadership. It smells like teenage drama over nothing.
It smells like not knowing anything about football. It smells like arguing with the cheerleaders. It smells like "Smoke on the Water" and "Final Countdown" and "The Hey Song." Also it smells like "Tequila."
But most of all it smells like storming the field when we get band of the day, fifteen people singing and listening to "Feliz Navidad" from one mp3 player and six splitters, daring each other to eat packs of Taco Bell's fire sauce, holding hands, laughing, crying, loving, and having some of the best times of our lives. Yes, that's right. To me, cigarette smoke in cold air smells like love. Go figure.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Becoming as little children
". . . Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."--Matthew 18:3
I think this is a wonderful scripture. I always love to hear the testimonies of young children, the simplicity and faith with which they understand even profound doctrines. Most children tend to be very teachable and humble. They know when they are loved, and they reciprocate that love pretty much unconditionally. I love to think of the Lord's needing us to be like little children.
Christ was considered the least among His people, yet was the greatest of all men to walk this earth. Likewise, I believe that children, though considered by some to be lesser beings than adults, can actually be some of our greatest examples. I think that many people take perhaps too much pride in being grown up and out of the innocence of childhood (this is a phenomenon we know as "taking oneself too seriously").
I love to be like a little child, and in more ways than one. But today I want to focus on one aspect of childhood specifically, and that is the singing of songs, namely Primary songs.
I have always loved Primary songs; one of the best (at least in my opinion) home videos of me is when I sing "Give, Said the Little Stream" in just about the thickest Southern accent you'll ever hear. Singing time was always my favorite part of Sunday, with the only exception being taking the Sacrament whenever we used Mama's sourdough bread for it.
Yes, I was a very spiritual child.
In all seriousness though, this past Sunday, we had a stake fireside. We piled a bunch of people into one of the rooms in the Wilk. We sang several songs from the Children's Songbook and the members of our Stake Presidency and their wives bore their testimonies to us about them.
Once again, I was very impressed and grateful for the simple truths of the gospel of Christ that are taught to us at such young ages. We sang many of my favorite songs, the words of which bear pure testimony of the Church, of our Prophets, and of our Savior. It was exactly what I needed. Which, in short, means that it made me an emotional mess, but it was worth it. We concluded with "I Am a Child of God," and the Spirit hit me with enormous force, testifying to the truth of those words. I am a daughter of God. He loves me, leads me, guides me, and wants me to be happy. I may get discouraged and downhearted when things take a turn for worse in my life, especially when they are things I know I can control. But He is always there to love and comfort me.
How could the Father show how much He loves us? He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to suffer and die for us, but also to rise again and live for us! I know that to be true, and I love that truth. I love that I learned it as a child and, through humility like unto that of a child, I can remember it every day and live my life accordingly.
I think this is a wonderful scripture. I always love to hear the testimonies of young children, the simplicity and faith with which they understand even profound doctrines. Most children tend to be very teachable and humble. They know when they are loved, and they reciprocate that love pretty much unconditionally. I love to think of the Lord's needing us to be like little children.
Christ was considered the least among His people, yet was the greatest of all men to walk this earth. Likewise, I believe that children, though considered by some to be lesser beings than adults, can actually be some of our greatest examples. I think that many people take perhaps too much pride in being grown up and out of the innocence of childhood (this is a phenomenon we know as "taking oneself too seriously").
I love to be like a little child, and in more ways than one. But today I want to focus on one aspect of childhood specifically, and that is the singing of songs, namely Primary songs.
I have always loved Primary songs; one of the best (at least in my opinion) home videos of me is when I sing "Give, Said the Little Stream" in just about the thickest Southern accent you'll ever hear. Singing time was always my favorite part of Sunday, with the only exception being taking the Sacrament whenever we used Mama's sourdough bread for it.
Yes, I was a very spiritual child.
In all seriousness though, this past Sunday, we had a stake fireside. We piled a bunch of people into one of the rooms in the Wilk. We sang several songs from the Children's Songbook and the members of our Stake Presidency and their wives bore their testimonies to us about them.
Once again, I was very impressed and grateful for the simple truths of the gospel of Christ that are taught to us at such young ages. We sang many of my favorite songs, the words of which bear pure testimony of the Church, of our Prophets, and of our Savior. It was exactly what I needed. Which, in short, means that it made me an emotional mess, but it was worth it. We concluded with "I Am a Child of God," and the Spirit hit me with enormous force, testifying to the truth of those words. I am a daughter of God. He loves me, leads me, guides me, and wants me to be happy. I may get discouraged and downhearted when things take a turn for worse in my life, especially when they are things I know I can control. But He is always there to love and comfort me.
How could the Father show how much He loves us? He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to suffer and die for us, but also to rise again and live for us! I know that to be true, and I love that truth. I love that I learned it as a child and, through humility like unto that of a child, I can remember it every day and live my life accordingly.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Golden slumbers fill your eyes. New blog posts await you when you rise.
Wow.
A little bit of explanation behind the last post.
I was up late doing homework (and apparently it was all Mama's fautl). I vaguely remember wanting to take a break to read some of my friends' recent blog updates and to maybe write a quick post myself, but this morning it all seemed like a dream to me. I do not even remember getting into my bed, but it must have happened since that is where I woke up.
Anyway, long story short, I blogged when I was half-asleep (though judging from the spelling and lack of coherence I was probably more like three-fourths asleep). I did not even realize what I had done until I ran into Mary right before phonetics class. That's when the first light bulb went off. I was pretty sure I remembered reading one of her posts, but, like I said, I thought it was a dream. She mentioned something about study abroad that triggered something in my brain, and she confirmed that she had in fact written a post about it. I couldn't really grasp the memory, though, so I went to go re-read it and see what it was all about. I get to blogger and I did remember reading it. But that was not what surprised me. You see, it said my blog was last published on September 23rd. I was so confused. But then I read what I had written, half asleep, in the middle of the night, and it all made sense, or as much sense as it could make. How pitiful I must have looked, sitting there with eyes drooping (or completely drooped. Who knows?) and hands weary and full of lead (especially when they were to press "e" and "r"), yet still typing away. . . .
And just for clarification, I should explain that a talk in Sacrament meeting on Sunday triggered the analysis of our apartment family. Those are the personalities we've assigned to one another. Rachel is the mother because she looks out for everyone. I'm the grandma because I look out for Rachel. Jazlyn is the dad because she always organizes the apartment meetings and such as that. Carolyn and Naomi are the "inseparable twins" because they're best friends and tend to stick together (Yvonne is what Jazlyn accidentally called Naomi for the first couple of weeks that she lived with us. The nickname stuck). And Amy is the rebellious teenager because. . . well, I don't know why. Probably because she never spends time with her grandma. :)
Even though it is kind of funny, it is also pretty embarrassing to see how ridiculous my mental processes are so late at night. This is good, solid evidence against the idea that staying up late is a good thing. I need a better sleeping schedule.
A little bit of explanation behind the last post.
I was up late doing homework (and apparently it was all Mama's fautl). I vaguely remember wanting to take a break to read some of my friends' recent blog updates and to maybe write a quick post myself, but this morning it all seemed like a dream to me. I do not even remember getting into my bed, but it must have happened since that is where I woke up.
Anyway, long story short, I blogged when I was half-asleep (though judging from the spelling and lack of coherence I was probably more like three-fourths asleep). I did not even realize what I had done until I ran into Mary right before phonetics class. That's when the first light bulb went off. I was pretty sure I remembered reading one of her posts, but, like I said, I thought it was a dream. She mentioned something about study abroad that triggered something in my brain, and she confirmed that she had in fact written a post about it. I couldn't really grasp the memory, though, so I went to go re-read it and see what it was all about. I get to blogger and I did remember reading it. But that was not what surprised me. You see, it said my blog was last published on September 23rd. I was so confused. But then I read what I had written, half asleep, in the middle of the night, and it all made sense, or as much sense as it could make. How pitiful I must have looked, sitting there with eyes drooping (or completely drooped. Who knows?) and hands weary and full of lead (especially when they were to press "e" and "r"), yet still typing away. . . .
And just for clarification, I should explain that a talk in Sacrament meeting on Sunday triggered the analysis of our apartment family. Those are the personalities we've assigned to one another. Rachel is the mother because she looks out for everyone. I'm the grandma because I look out for Rachel. Jazlyn is the dad because she always organizes the apartment meetings and such as that. Carolyn and Naomi are the "inseparable twins" because they're best friends and tend to stick together (Yvonne is what Jazlyn accidentally called Naomi for the first couple of weeks that she lived with us. The nickname stuck). And Amy is the rebellious teenager because. . . well, I don't know why. Probably because she never spends time with her grandma. :)
Even though it is kind of funny, it is also pretty embarrassing to see how ridiculous my mental processes are so late at night. This is good, solid evidence against the idea that staying up late is a good thing. I need a better sleeping schedule.
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